I’m not 100% sure what I’m supposed to feel about the kdrama “Fated to Love You.” I’m pretty sure I saw the Chinese version of this show, and while I watched it to the end, there was something a bit distasteful about the whole thing.

A rich guy sleeps with the wrong girl after getting drunk and gets her pregnant. So of course they have to be married, you know, for reasons.

The opening scene is a little, er, I’m not sure how to describe it. Though I will say the guy’s chest is full of ribs. Which I guess is supposed to be super sexy, except he’s kind of a skeeze.

I’ve only just started watching the show, so I’m not sure, maybe it will get really good. I’ve had a couple of kdramas that I thought would be duds turn out to be my favorites. I don’t know, but I’ll keep you all updated…

Where I’m watching it: Netflix.

*

Title: Rescue Position
Series: Franz Caulder
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: urban fantasy, mm
Summary: Something from the middle.

EXCERPT:

Except there was no joke. Carrie-Ann was dead at thirteen. She hadn’t even come up with a superhero name yet. They were never going to join the League together.

Franz wanted to turn and run away, but the dream held him mesmerized. He gazed down at Carrie-Ann and it felt like he was getting farther and farther away from her, his body growing taller and taller. Except he was focusing down and down like a telescope and details jumped out at him before he felt himself pulled forward and through.

Carrie-Ann’s eye, which had been glazed in death, morphed into its normal bright blue. Then the blue expanded to fill the whole of her eye socket and the blue rose up to surround him and there were shadowy images moving in the depths and his heart leapt when he thought he caught a glimpse of Nigel out of the corner of his eye, a Nigel in his civilian clothes with his red dressing gown and Sherlock pipe.

Franz turned toward where Nigel had gone and flowed forward. The blue swallowed him up and parted around him at the same time and he found himself standing on a beach staring out at the ocean. There was a nervous presence at his side, and when he turned to look he wasn’t surprised to see Blue Devil, her full face mask carved out of cobalt blue metal that flowed down and down until suddenly her uniform was all blue and black and metal armor. And the rest of the Teen Demis were arrayed behind her and they were all changed into metal too and they were looking at him, judging him.

“What do you want?” he demanded. Those weren’t the words he wanted to say, but they were the ones that came out. He felt as if he was reading a script, experiencing something that had already happened before.

“What we’ve always wanted. A home.” Blue Devil spoke, but it sounded like all of the Teen Demis in a chorus, in a song. “You’ve gone down the rabbit hole, but who’s to know where you will come up? Wonderland is not real.”

“I know that. I learned that dreams weren’t real when I was just a little kid.” He fisted his hair and pulled until his spine began to tingle. “I want to go home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Blue Devil cocked her head with a rasping of stone. “Don’t you know? You are home. This is your home. This is who you are. You will live here and die here and no one will ever know your name. Do you know your name?”

“Of course I know my name!” He opened his mouth to shout it, but nothing came out. There was just a rushing emptiness where the name used to be. “How can I not know my name? What’s wrong with me?”

Everything.” It was a whisper, and when he whirled to see where it had come from, he barely caught a glimpse of plaid pajama pants.

“Don’t leave me!” He stumbled after that half-hearted glimpse, the memory of home and love and safety.

The ground fell out from under his feet and he fell and fell with wind whipping by on both sides and it felt like he fell forever. When he struck the bottom, he limped away on a numb leg and when it became too much he fell down and began to crawl.

There was the faint tinkle of a merry tune floating to him on the breeze and he followed it down the path through the woods. It got darker and darker the further he went, and he started seeing snarling wolf faces and glowing eyes and the anxiety rose up so much in him that he didn’t even care about the slimy toadstools and wormy dirt and moss he dug his hands through as he crawled.

He kept to the winding beaten path. It was brown with packed dirt and pine needles, lined on both sides by gravel. It was only up close that he saw the wriggling of bugs, that he felt what was hidden just under the pine needles as his hands squelched under his weight. He could feel things moving against the back of his hands and he realized that he could stand up and walk so he did and he wondered why he’d been crawling at all. It seemed like such a strange thing to do.

And the shadows fled and the path lightened, sunlight peeking through breaks in the tree cover. There was birdsong and the chittering of small animals and the crackle of the pine needles under his feet.

And he noticed he wasn’t wearing his shoes anymore, but cartoon cat print flip flops and those stupid red shorts he’d finally thrown away when he was twelve. Only the shorts fit him now and so did the striped shirt he wore and he knew that he was starting fourth grade in a couple of weeks and this was the last summer where he got to have fun.

He was exploring the woods while Nigel and his friends Evan, Warrick, and Caspian got the fire going. They’d been having a hard time when he left, and he’d told them the wood was too wet but they were adults and he was a kid so they didn’t listen. It felt like the perfect time for him to scout out the area and make sure there were no bears.

He figured if he saw a bear, he could poke it with a stick.

Only he’d forgotten which way camp was and the path wound around and crisscrossed in some places and his legs ached and he thought he’d been walking for hours.

He sniffled, realizing he was going to be alone forever. Then he heard someone yelling and it sounded like his name, only he couldn’t hear it very well so he started running toward where it had come from.

He ran and ran, and his legs began to burn so he kicked them off and he was flying over the ground faster and faster until the whole world was a single blur. And in that stillness between the moments he found Nigel at a round table standing and drinking his usual cup of tea.

Only it wasn’t Nigel. It was Lightspeed. And he was just a little boy in stupid red shorts and he didn’t know what to do.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” he said, tugging at his shirt to show what he meant.

Lightspeed looked down at him, and his mask hid his expression and made him seem disappointed. “No, you’re not.”

“Do you know my name?” he asked.

“It’s not your name anymore,” Lightspeed said. He shook his head sadly. “You’re no one. You’re nothing.” He waved his hand around. “None of this is even real.”

“I’m real!”

“Are you?” Lightspeed poked him in the chest and he stumbled back at the sudden assault but there was no stopping it. Lightspeed was too fast and he loomed and expanded to fill the whole room and every corner, not allowing any escape. “You’re nothing more than patchwork parts about to break down. You’re not even people.”

“A person.”

People.” Lightspeed drifted back and pulled away and he took all the light in the room with him. “You’re nothing that will ever become something. You’re just an empty shell of who you used to be.”

There was a static charge feeling that grew and grew until there was a buzzing in the air, then the harsh crackle burn snap of blue lightning whipping everywhere. Lightspeed was tattered into nothing, only it was the head of Nigel that disappeared last: eyes, nose, mouth.

“How can you forget your own name? Say it with me now: ‘The whizzing wizard of speed, the daringly dashing Lightspeed, and his sidekick, the explosive and exciting, K–‘” Lightspeed’s words were cut off as lightning flicked across his mouth, cutting it in half and flinging it away.

But it was too late.

“Kid Nitro!”

Franz blinked and he knew who he was and he was in his adult body though he was wearing his red sweatshirt and he wasn’t sure what that annoying sound was. He looked around the dusty plain and wondered what was going to happen next, except what was that sound? It burst through his head and…

Franz sat up on the couch with a gasp, the doorbell louder than he remembered.

“Hold on!” he called, before he thought that he might want to pretend he wasn’t home. Too late.

He rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor. He picked off a few pieces of lint and put it on before shuffling to the door.

He had slept all night and the light shining around the curtains hinted at it being nearly noon. He wondered who had come to call on him, and spent a few seconds dreading the sight of police when he peered through the peephole, but all he could see was the top of a dark haired head.

/EXCERPT

Heroes & Villains at Amazon

Finally caught up with all my DVR’d episodes of Stalker. Seriously, I am obsessed with the show, pun intended. It’s one of those dramas that you want to catch from the first episode, and it’s a great show for mainlining–binge-watch it, it’ll hit all your taste buttons.

WARNING: There is a bit of a creep factor due to the whole stalking thing, so if you’re easily triggered, it might not be for you. Still, Beth’s backstory keeps me coming back for more. I cannot wait to see what happens next.

*

A cool thing: my dad is talking about putting together an outdoor studio for me. Sure, it will probably be a bit slapped together, because, you know, it’s us, but it’s still a very nice gesture and I find myself a bit excited. There’s a big chance that nothing will come of it, but if he really does follow through…

It will be nice to have somewhere to put together my paper crafts and store my supplies. The biggest drawback of living here is that I’m surrounded by smokers. There are some days when I feel like I’ve rolled around in an ashtray and I can’t help thinking that people can smell me from a mile away.

So to have a place of my own where I can do my work… It will change everything.

I will remain hopeful.

*

Title: Faizel II
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: vampire, mm, urban fantasy, dark fic
Summary: Charlemagne loves Faizel. Faizel is fond of Charlemagne. And Ewing feels like he’s watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.

EXCERPT:

“This is a nice place. You’re not worried someone’s going to find out I’m your dirty little secret?” There was a teasing bite to Faizel’s tone, one that made Ewing fight back a wince.

He’d been around enough couple-fights to recognize the warning signs. The minute someone threw a plate, he was leaving. Charlemagne was his friend, not his boss. Not yet anyway, an inner voice murmured, but he pretended not to hear it.

“I hate that I can’t show you the world as I would wish,” Charlemagne said. “You are what is most important to me. I want the world to know that I love you. But it’s too dangerous. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I promise you, I won’t be the one hurting,” Faizel said.

Ewing stared at his napkin, pretending to be enthralled by the micro-weave of the linen. Couple-fights were bad enough, but heartfelt romance was almost worse. He wouldn’t have felt as much like an interloper if he was watching them have sex–that was just master vampire exhibitionism. He’d learned how to pretend that he was watching, while really visualizing a play-by-play of his last quest in his favorite RPG.

There was no pretending to be far away when he could hear the emotion in Charlemagne’s voice. He could see that mask of a pleasant expression that Charlemagne wore, but he was also close enough to see the honest love shining in those blue eyes. It hurt to see Charlemagne be so naked, and have the subject of all that emotion be Faizel.

Ewing didn’t trust Faizel not to break Charlemagne just because he could. Yet he couldn’t say anything either, because Charlemagne was in no state of mind to listen. All Ewing could do was alienate his friend, and that wasn’t a direction he wanted things to go.

He’d decided that he would keep an eye on Faizel to make sure he wasn’t hurting Charlemagne. Unless he saw some active abuse, he wasn’t going to step in. No matter how creepy he thought Faizel was.

The best thing that he could do was to bite his tongue. He just worried that he was going to end up biting it clear off. Because while he thought Faizel was a scary vampire-eating monster, Charlemagne would never hear a word against him.

It was a relief when the waiter returned with their food. It gave Ewing something to focus on as he ignored the romantic love story unfolding in front of him. He tried not to imagine that he was watching the true life story of Mickey and Mallory Knox if they happened to be vampires.

My life has gotten strange, he thought, tasting a bright blue foam that exploded with flavor when he touched it to his tongue. But at least the food is good.

/EXCERPT

Curious to meet Faizel? Check out Faizel I on Smashwords or Amazon. It’s $0.99, yo.

Let's Make Dumplings at Amazon

There are currently plans afoot for what I think are some truly awesome things. At the very least, I am enthused.

*

I really have to start taking pictures, though I’ve been holding off a bit so I can practice my different crafty things. I probably shouldn’t be so shy about it, but I am. I’ll have to force myself to get the camera out. (But I’ll try.)

The only thing I’m really scared of is that I’m going to suck. I’ve dreamed my whole life of being one of those arty people that can pick up a pen and make something beautiful. I feel like I’ve found a way to express that desire in a workable way, but it would kill me if I’m not any good at it.

I still remember how awful it was to discover that I can’t paint.

There are kindergartners that can paint better than me. I didn’t realize how bad I was at painting until I bought all kinds of acrylic paints and brushes. I don’t want to go through that nightmare again.

*

Money I’ve spent so far on the current project: $300. There’s so many tools and supplies I still need to get, so I’ve been focusing on the smaller pieces. They’re not turning out quite how I want them to be, so I’m praying I didn’t just throw that money away. I would seriously cry.

*

I’ve also been writing a script for this little thing I’m working on. (I’m not talking about the Ren’Py game; that’s been set aside until mid-March. I still can’t get the Android extension to work, which is a bit of a puzzler.) It’s a video we’re putting together for our YouTube channel. We haven’t gotten to the point of making sets yet, so it’s going to be a while yet, but I’m really getting into this show.

*

Title: Tuesday Night
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: superhero sci-fi

EXCERPT:

So right now, examining the scene that was Triangle Park, Seth felt his focus tightening. This could be for all the marbles, and he refused to be the one to fuck things up.

“Good luck,” he breathed.

“You too,” Tony said.

Then they were moving in opposite directions, Seth headed toward the swan-topped fountain, Tony toward the gazebo. If they survived, they were to meet up past the East Gate on the far end of the park. If they didn’t survive… well, then they’d be dining in Valhalla and none of this mattered anyway.

There were drones moving around the big tent. Carrying planks of wood and coils of wire, tromping around in their own little world. Seth was glad not to be noticed.

He stayed to the peripherals, moving amongst the trees. He wanted to use the cover as long as possible before he was forced to expose himself. He felt like he had a target painted on his skin. One drone catching sight of him too soon and everything would be over.

As he walked, he dropped tiny thumbtack charges. Unless they were being shoved into a keyhole to blow the lock on a door, they were mostly a popping firecracker sound and a bit of light. But they could be activated with a simple remote, and he figured a bit of distraction would do him good.

Ghosting amongst the trees, he set the camera on his helm to 360-degrees and hoped it was recording everything. No matter what happened, Overwatch would appreciate the enemy intel. Even if they got it from a satellite transmission after he was already dead.

He knelt down to pile the last of the thumbtack charges on the ground and smoothed a handful of loose dirt on top of them.

He wasn’t looking to start a fire, but the surrounding brush was dry and he could hope a little. It would make the perfect distraction while he made his getaway.

/EXCERPT

All Systems Red at Amazon

There are times when I have to wonder how my father can be such an idiot. It seems as though he tries his hardest to be the worst kind of parent ever, then he wonders why people get enraged and hateful toward him.

The Kid came back from his father with a laser pointer, something I didn’t like the idea of and disapproved of, but it was something that he had. It was his.

My brother lectured the Kid, my father lectured the Kid, really drawn out and hysterical yammerings about people being blinded by laser pointers and dogs losing their minds and all kinds of drama. And after weeks and weeks of listening to the constant lectures, somewhere in there the laser pointer disappeared and was — for a time — forgotten.

Until today. When the Kid went on a desperate search for it. And unable to find it, he asked my dad if he’d seen it. And my dad admitted that he’d found it in the living room and taken it away. He wasn’t going to give it back because it was too dangerous and the Kid wasn’t responsible enough and… and… and…

By the end of it, I spent the next two hours calming the Kid down and getting equilibrium back in the house, while my dad played on his computer and took a nap. And after it was all done, the Kid had finally let things go and was willing to move on. Things were okay.

By the time 6 pm rolled around, the Kid and I were watching a movie and he was talking to me again. He’d come to accept the fact that the laser pointer was taken away and he wasn’t getting it back. Things were done.

So of course my father had to come out of his computer room with the laser pointer and start talking about “I’m gonna give this back to you on the understanding that you’re going to…” blahdy blahdy blahdy. And I had to step in and say No, don’t give it back. Because I was already tired of the lecturing and the yelling and the general misery of it all.

I didn’t want the Kid to have the laser pointer in the first place. It disappeared and I was relieved. The Kid was angry at me for agreeing with my dad about him not having it, but he’d started to get over it. The decision had been made, he’s a good kid, it was over and done with.

So of course my father had to blow the whole situation up. Because that’s what he does. Whenever things are smoothed over and quiet, he steps in and releases a bomb into the room just because, then retreats back to safety where he doesn’t have to deal with the anger and the tears and the resentment.

And now I’m the bad guy. Again.